A! 

Al 

0| 
01 

1  [ 

4\ 
3  j 
31 

vl 

21 
1  = 


GARRICK 
The  Irish  Widow 


IEWieKBKSHQBe<*B«B 


PR 

3467 

17 


THE    MINOR    DRAMA 


TUE    ACTING    EDITIOX. 


No.  CLXVIII. 


THE 


IRISH    WIDOW 

BY    DAVID    OARRICK. 


TO  WHICH  ARE  ADDED 

A  Description  of  the  Costume — Cast  of  the  Characters — Kntrances  and  Exits- 
Relative  Positions  of  the  Performers  on  the  Stage,  and 
the  whole  of  the  Stage  Business 


AS   PERFORMED    AT 

THE  PRINCIPAL  ENGLISH  AND  AMERICAN  THEATERS. 


-♦— ♦- 


NEW   YORK: 

SAMUEL      FRENCH, 
122  Nassau  Street,  (Up  Stairs.) 


?^i 


>• 


<:    ~   O   ^   ^  ^   ■     a.3 
O  <!  P    tf^-J* 


^?rsP 


ii-     =:  p 


s  r._  B  2  2  ^  i.  *  Cti 


?r-2.p"    ac^~ 

*<       c  o  2'  ?  ■    •   *S^ 


pp  UBRAKY 

/;.  ^  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORJ^IA 

^"^^  /  SANTA  BARBARA 

r7 


THE    IRISH    WIDOW. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.— Whittle's  House. 

Enter  Bates  and  Sekvaxt. 

Bates.  Is  he  gone  out  1  His  card  tells  ir.e  to  come  directly — I  did 
but  lock  up  some  papers,  take  my  hat  and  cane,  and  away  I  hurried. 

Serv.  My  master  desires  you  will  sit  down,  he  will  return  imme- 
diately— he  had  some  business  with  his  lawyer,  and  went  out  in  great 
haste,  leaving  the  luessage  I  have  delivered.  Here  is  my  young 
master,  \_Exit.\ 

Enter  Nephew. 

Bates.  What,  lively  Billy  !  Hold,  I  beg  your  pardon — melancholy 
William,  I  think — Here's  a  fine  revolution — I  hear  your  uncle,  who 
was  last  month  all  gravity,  and  you  all  mirth,  have  changed  charac- 
ters -,  he  is  now  all  spirit,  and  you  are  in  the  dumps,  young  man. 

Nep.  And  for  the  same  reason — this  journey  to  Scarborough  will 
unfold  the  riddle. 

Bates.  Come,  come,  in  plain  English,  and  before  your  uncle  comes, 
explain  the  matter. 

Nep.  In  the  first  place,  I  anr  undone. 

Bates.  In  love,  I  know — I  hope  your  uncle  is  not  undone  too;  that 
would  be  the  devil ! 

Nep.  He  has  taken  possession  of  him  in  every  sense.  In  short,  he 
came  to  Scarborough  to  see  the  lady  I  had  fallen  in  love  with 

Bates.  And  fell  in  love  himself? 

Nep.  Yes,  and  with  the  same  lady. 

Bates.  That  is  the  devil  indeed  ! 

Nep.  0,  Mr.  Bates  !  when  I  thought  my  happiness  complete,  and 
wanted  only  my  uncle's  consent,  to  give  me  the  independence  ho  so 
often  has  promised  me,  he  came  to  Scarborough  for  that  ])iupose,  and 
wished  me  joy  of  my  choice  ;  but,  in  less  than  a  week,  his  apiiroba- 
tion  turned  into  a  passion  for  her ;  he  now  hates  the  sight  of  me,  and 
is  resolved,  with  the  consent  of  the  father,  to  make  her  his  wife  di- 
rectly. 

Bates.  So  he  keeps  you  out  of  your  fortune,  won't  give  his  consent, 
which  his  brother's  foolish  will  retpiires,  and  he  would  marry  himself 
the  same  woman,  because  right,  title,  conscience,  nature,  justice,  and 
every  law,  divine  and  human,  are  against  it. 


4  THE    TRISH     WmoW. 

Xep.  Tliiis  lie  tricks  me  at  once  both  of  wifo  and  I'ortune,  without 
the  least  want  of  eitlier. 

JJatcg.  Well  sail],  friend  AVhittle !  but  it  can't  be,  it  shan't  be,  and 
it  must  not  be — this  is  murder  and  robbery  in  tlie  strongest  sense, 
and  lie  shan't  be  hanged  in  cliains  to  be  laughed  at  bj'  the  whole 
town,  if  I  can  help  it. 

Xep.  I  am  distracted,  the  widow  is  distressed,  and  we  both  shall 
run  mad. 

Bates.  A  widow  too  !  'gad  a  raevcy,  threescore  and  five  ! 

Xci).  But  such  a  widow !  She  is  now  in  town  with  her  father,  who 
wants  to  get  her  off  his  hands  •;  'tis  equal  to  him  who  has  her,  so 
she  is  provided  for — I  hear  somebody  coming— I  must  away  to  her 
lodcrings,  where  she  waits  forme  to  execute  a  scheme  directly  for  our 
delivery. 

Bates.  What  is  her  name,  Billy  1 

Kep.  Brady. 

Bates.  Brady  !  Is  she  not  daughter  to  Sir  Patrick  O'Neale  1 

Xep.  The  same.  She  was  sacrificed  to  the  most  senseless,  drunken, 
jtrofligate  in  the  whole  countrj'.  He  lived  to  run  out  his  fortune  ;  and 
the  only  advantage  she  got  from  the  union  was,  he  broke  that  and  his 
neck  before  he  had  broke  her  heart. 

Bates.  The  affair  of  marriage  is,  in  this  country,  put  upon  the 
easiest  footing  ;  there  is  neither  love  nor  hate  in  the  matter  ;  neces- 
sity brings  them  together  ;  they  are  united  at  first  for  their  mutual 
convenience,  and  separated  ever  after  for  their  particular  pleasures — 
0  rare  matrimony  ! — Where  does  she  lodge  1 

Xep,  In  Pall-]Mall,  near  the  hotel. 

Bates.  I'll  call  in  my  way,  and  assist  at  the  consultation ;  I  am  for 
a  bold  stroke, if  gentle  methods  should  fail. 

Xej).  We  have  a  plan,  and  a  spirited  one,  if  my  sweet  widow  is 
able  to  go  through  Avith  it — pray  let  us  have  your  friendly  assistance 
— ours  is  the  cause  of  love  and  reason. 

Bates.  Get  you  gone,  with  your  love  and  reason,  they  seldom  pull 
together  now-a-days.  I'l  give  your  uncle  a  dose  ifirst,  and  thea  I'll 
meet  you  at  the  widow's.  What  says  your  uncle's  privy  counselor, 
Mr.  Thomas,  to  this  1 

Xep.  He  is  greatly  our  friend,  and  will  enter  sincerely  into  our  ser- 
vice— he  is  honest,  sensible,  ignorant  and  particular ;  a  kind  of  half 
coxcomb,  with  a  thorough  good  heart — but  he's  here. 

Bates.  Do  you  go  about  your  business,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me. 

[Exit  Nephew.] 
Enter  Thomas,  with  a  pamphlet. 
Mr.    Thomas,   I  am  glad  to  see  you;    upon  my  word,   you  look 
charmingly — you  wear  well,  Mr.  Thomas. 

Tho.  AVhich  is  a  wonder,  considering  how  times  go,  Mr.  Bates — 
they'll  wear  and  tear  me  too,  if  I  don't  take  care  of  myself;  my  old 
master  has  taken  the  nearest  way  to  wear  himself  out,  and  all  that 
belongs  to  him. 

Bates.  Why  surely  this  strange  story  about  town  is  not  true,  that 
the  old  gentleman  is  fallen  in  love  1 


THE    IRISH    WIDOW.  5 

Tho.  Ten  times  worse  than  that ! 

Bates.   The  devil  ! 

Tho.  And  his  liorns, — 2;oing  to  be  married  ! 

Bates.  Not  if  I  can  help  it. 

Tho.  You  never  saw  such  an  altered  man  in  your  born  daj'S  !  he's 
grown  young  again ;  he  frisks,  and  prances,  and  runs  about,  as  if  he 
had  a  new  pair  of  legs — he  has  left  oti'  his  brown  camlet  surtout, 
which  he  wore  all  the  summer,  and  now,  with  his  hat  under  his  arm, 
he  goes  open-breasted,  and  dresses,  and  powders,  and  smirks,  so  that 
you  would  take  him  for  the  mad  Frenchman  in  Bedlam — something 
wrong  in  his  upper  story.  Would  you  think  it  1 — he  wants  me  to 
wear  a  pig-tail ! 

Bates.  Then  he  is  far  gone  indeed  ! 

Tho.  As  sure  as  you  are  there,  Mr.  Bates,  a  pig-tail ! — we  have  had 
sad  work  about  it — I  made  a  compromise  with  him  to  M'ear  these 
ruffled  shirts  which  he  gave  me;  but  they  stand  in  my  way — lam 
not  so  listness  with  them — tliough  I  have  tied  up  my  hands  for 
him,  I  won't  tie  up  my  head,  that  I  am  resolute. 

Bates.  This  is  to  be  in  love,  Thomas ! 

Tho.  He  may  make  free  with  himself,  he  shan't  make  a  fool  of  me 
— he  has  got  his  head  into  a  bag,  but  I  won't  have  a  pig-tall  tacked 
to  mine — and  so  I  told  him 

Bates.  What  did  you  tell  him  1 

Tho.  That  as  I  and  my  father,  and  his  father  before  me,  had  worn 
their  own  hair  as  heaven  had  sent  it.  I  thought  myself  rather  too  old 
to  set  up  tor  a  monkey  at  my  time  of  life,  and  wear  a  pigtail — he  ! 
he !  he ! — he  took  it. 

Bates.  With  a  wry  face,  for  it  was  wormwood. 

Tho.  Yes,  he  was  frumped,  and  called  me  old  blockhead,  and 
would  not  speak  to  me  the  rest  of  the  day — but  the  next  day  he  was 
at  it  again — he  then  put  me  into  a  passion — and  I  could  not  help  tell- 
ing him,  that  I  was  an  Englishman  born,  and  had  my  prerogative  as 
well  as  he ;  and  that  as  long  as  I  had  breath  in  my  body,  I  was  for 
liberty  and  a  strait  head  of  hair. 

Bates.  Well  said,  Thomas — he  could  not  answer  that. 

Tho.  The  poorest  man  in  England  is  a  match  for  the  greatest,  if 
he  will  but  stick  to  tho  laws  of  tho  land,  and  the  statute  'books,  as 
they  are  delivered  down  to  us  from  our  forefathers. 

Bates.  You  are  right — we  must  lay  our  wits  together,  and  drive 
the  widow  out  of  your  old  master's  head,  and  put  her  into  tho  young 
master's  hands. 

Tho.  With  all  my  heart — nothing  can  be  more  meritorious — marry 
at  his  years !  what  a  terrible  account  would  ho  make  of  it,  Mr. 
Bates  %     Let  me  see — on  the  debtor  side  sixty-live  and  i)or  contra 

creditor,  a  buxom  widow  of  twenty-three he'll  be  a  bankrupt  in  a 

fortnight — he !  he !  he  ! 

Bates,  And  so  he  would,  Mr.  Thomas — what  have  von  got  in  your 
hand  1 

Tho.  A  pamphlet,  my  old  gentleman  takes  in — he;  has  left  off  buy- 
ing histories  and  religious  pieces  by  numbers,  as  he  used  to  do;  and 


C  THE    IRISH    WIDOW. 

since  he  has  got  this  widow  in  his  head,  he  reads  nothing  but  the 
Aniorous  Repository'  Cupid's  Revels,  Call  to  Marriage,  Hymen's 
Delights,  Love  lies  a  Bleeding,  Love  in  the  Suds,  and  such  like  ten- 
der compositions. 

Bates.  Here  he  comes,  with  all  his  folly  about  him. 

Tho.  Yes,  and  the  first  fool  from  Vanity-fair — Heaven  help  us — 
love  turns  man  and  woman  topsy  turvj-.  [Exit. 

^yhittle.  [  Without.]  Where  is  he  1  where  is  my  good  friend  1 

Enter   Whittl.e. 

Ha  !  here  he  is — give  me  your  hand. 

Bates.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  such  spirits,  my  old  gentleman. 

Whit.  Not  so  old  neither ;  no  man  ought  to  be  called  old,  friend 
Bates,  if  he  is  in  health,  spirits,  and 

Bates.  In  his  senses — which  I  should  rather  doubt,  as  I  never  saw 
you  half  so  frolicsome  in  my  life. 

Whit.  Never  too  old  too  learn,  friend  ;  and  if  I  don't  make  use  of 
my  own  philosophy  now,  I  may  wear  it  out  in  twenty  years.  I  have 
always  been  bantered  as  of  too  grave  a  cast — you  know  when  I  stu- 
died at  Lincoln's  Inn,  they  used  to  call  me  Young  Wisdom. 

Bates.  And  if  they  should  call  you  Old  Folly,  it  would  be  a  much 
worse  name. 

Whit.  No  young  jackanapes  dares  to  call  me  so,  while  I  have  this 
friend  at  my  side.  [Touches  his  sword. 

Bates.  A  hero  too !  What,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  is  come 
to  you,  my  friend  1 — high  spirits,  quick  honor,  a  long  sword,  and  a 
bag  ! — you  want  nothing  but  to  be  terribly  in  love,  and  then  you  may 
sally  forth  Knight  of  the  Woful  Countenance.     Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 

Whit.  Mr.  Bates — the  ladies,  who  are  the  best  judges  of  counte- 
nances, are  not  of  your  opinion  ;  and  unless  you'll  be  a  little  serious, 
I  must  beg  pardon  for  giving  you  this  trouble,  and  I'll  open  my  mind 
to  some  more  attentive  friend. 

Bates.  Well,  come,  unlock  then,  you  wild,  handsome,  vigorous, 
young  dog,  you 1  will  please  j'ou  if  I  can. 

Whit.  I  believe  you  never  saw  me  look  better,  Frank,  did  you  1 

Bates.  0  yes,  rather  better  forty  years  a^o. 

Whit.  Wliat,  when  I  was  at  Merchant  Tailors'  School? 

Bates.  At  Lincoln's  Inn,  Tom.  • 

Whit.  It  can't  be — I  never  disguise  my  ase,  and  next  February  I 
shall  be  fifiy-four. 

Bates.  Fifty-lour !  why  I  am  sixty,  and  you  always  licked  me  at 
school — thougii  I  believe  I  could  do  as  much  for  you  now,  and  e'cod 
I  believe  you  deserve  it  too. 

Whit.  I  tell  you  I  am  in  my  fifty-fifth  year. 

Bates.  0,  you  are — let  me  see — we  were  together  at  Cambridge, 
Anno  Domini  twenty-five,  which  is  nearly  fifty  years  ago — you  came 
to  the  college,  indeed,  surprisingly  young  ;  and,  what  is  more  surpri- 
sing, by  this  calculation  you  went  to  Lchool  before  you  was  born — 
yoii  was  always  a  forward  child. 

Whit.  I  .see  there  is  no  talking  or  consulting  with  vou  in  this  hu- 


THE   IRISH    WIDOW.  7 

mour;  and  so,  Mr.  Bates,  when  you  are  in  temper  to  show  less  of 
Your  wit,  and  more  of  your  friendship,  I  shall  consult  with  you. 

Bates.  Fare  you  well  my  old  boy — young  fellow,  I  mean — when 
you  have  done  sowing  your  wild  oats,  and  have  been  blistered  into 
your  right  senses  ;  when  you  have  half  killed  yourself  with  being  a 
beau,  and  return  to  your  woolen  caps,  flannel  waistcoats,  worsted 
stockings,  cork  soles,  and  gallochies,  I  am  at  your  service  again.  So 
bon  jour  to  you.  Monsieur  Fifty-four — ha  !  ha  !  [Exit. 

Whit.  He  has  certainly  heard  of  my  affair — but  he  is  old  and  pee- 
vish— he  want's  spirits  and  strength  of  constitution  to  conceive  my 
happiness — I  am  in  love  with  the  widow,  and  must  have  her ;  everj- 
man  knows  his  own  wants — let  the  world  laugh,  and  my  friends 
stare !  let  'em  call  me  imprudent,  and  mad,  if  tliey  please — I  live  in 
good  times  and  among  people  of  fashion  ;  so  none  of  my  neighbors. 
thank  Heaven,  can  have  the  assurance  to  laugh  at  me. 

Enter  Kecksey. 

Kech.  What,  my  friend  Whittle  !  joy  .'  joy  !  to  you,  old  boy — you 
are  going!  a  going  !  a  going  !  a  fine  widow  has  bid  for  you,  and  will 
have  you — hah,  friend  1  all  for  the  best — there  is  nothing  like  it — 
hugh  !  hugh  !  hugh  ! — a  good  wife  is  a  good  thing,  and  a  young  one 
is  a  better — hah — who's  afraid  1  If  I  had  not  lately  married  one,  I 
should  have  been  at  death's  door  by  this  time — hugh  !  hugh  !  hugh  ! 

Whit.  Thank,  thank  you  friend  !  I  was  coming  to  advise  with  you 
— I  am  got  into  the  pond  again — in  love  up  to  the  ears — a  fine  wo- 
man, faith  ;  and  there's  no  love  lost  between  us.     Am  I  right  friend "? 

Keck.  Right !  ay,  right  as  my  leg,  Tom  !  Life's  nothing  without 
love — hugh  !  hugh  I  I  am  happy  as  the  day's  long  !  my  wife  loves 
gadding,  and  I  can't  stay  at  home ;  so  we  are  both  of  a  mind — she'.s 
every  night  at  one  or  other  of  the  gay  places  ;  but  among  friends,  I 
am  little  afraid  of  the  damp  ;  hugh !  hugh !  she  lias  got  an  Irish 
gentleman,  a  kind  of  cousin  of  hers,  to  take  care  of  her  ;  a  fine  fel- 
low ;  and  so  good-natured.  It  is  a  vast  comfort  to  have  such  a  friend 
in  a  family  !  Hugh  !  hugh !  hugh  ! 

Whit.  You  are  a  bold  man   cousin  Kecksey, 

Keck.  Bold  !  ay  to  bo  sure ;  none  but  the  brave  deserve  the  fair — 
Hugh!  hngh!  who's  afraid'? 

Whit.  Why  your  wife  is  five  feet  ten. 

Keck.  Without  her  shoes.  I  hate  your  little  shrimps  ;  none  of  your 
lean,  meagre  figures  for  me  ;  I  was  always  fond  of  the  majestic  ;  give 
me  a  slice  of  a  good  English  surloin  ;  cut  and  come  again ;  hugh  ! 
hugh  !  that's  my  taste. 

Whit.  I  am  glad  you  liavc  so  good  a  stomach.  And  so  you 
would  advise  me  to  marry  the  widow  directly  1 

Keck.  To  be  sure — you  have  not  a  moment  to  lose ;  I  always  mind 
what  the  poet  says, 

'Tis  folly  to  lose  time, 
When  a  man  is  in  his  prime. 
Hugh,  hugh,  hugh ! 

Whit.  You  have  an  ugly  cough,  cousin. 


8  THE   IRISH  WIDOW. 

Keck.  Marriage  is  the  best  lozenge  for  it. 

Wfiit.  You  liave  raised  me  from  the  dead — I  am  glad  you  came — 
Frank  Bates  had  almost  killed  me  with  his  jokes — but  you  have 
comforted  me,  and  we  will  walk  through  the  park ;  and  I  will  carry 
you  to  the  widow  in  Pall-Mall. 

— Keck.  With  all  my  heart — FU  raise  her  spirits,  and  your's  too — 
courgae,  Tom — come  along — who's  afraid  1  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— TJie  Widow's  Lodgings. 
Enter  Widow,  Nephew,  and  Bates. 

Bates.  Indeed,  madam,  there  is  no  other  way  but  to  cast  off  your 
real  character  and  assume  a  feigned  one  ;  it  is  an  extraordinary  occa- 
sion, and  requires  extraordinary  measures  ;  pluck  up  a  spirit,  and  do 
it  for  the  honour  of  your  sex. 

Nep.  Only  consider,  my  sweet  widow,  that  our  all  is  at  stake. 
Wid.  Could  I  bring  my  heart  to  act  contrary  to  its  feelings,  would 
not  you  hate  me  for  being  a  hypocrite,  though  it  is  done  for  your  sake  ? 

Nep.  Could  I  think  myself  capable  of  such  ingratitude 

Wid.  Could  we  live  upon  affection,  I  would  give  your  fortune  to 
your  uncle,  and  thank  him  for  taking  it ;  and  then 

Nep.  What  then,  my  sweet  widow  1 

Wid.  I  would  desire  you  to  run  away  with  me  as  fast  as  you  can. 
What  a  pity  it  is  that  this  money,  which  my  heart  despises,  should 
hinder  its  happiness,  or  that,  for  the  want  of  a  few  dirty  acres,  a  poor 
woman  must  be  made  miserable,  and  sacrificed  twice  to  those  who 
have  them. 

Nep.  Heaven  forbid  !  These  exquisite  sentiments  endear  you  more 
to  me,  and  distract  me  with  the  dread  of  losing  you. 

Bates.  Young  folks,  let  an  old  man,  who  is  not  quite  in  love,  and 
yet  will  admire  a  fine  woman  to  the  day  of  his  death,  throw  in  a 
little  advice  among  your  flames  and  darts. 

Wid.  Though  a  woman,  a  widow,  and  in  love  too,  I  can  hear  rea- 
Bon,  'Sir.  Bates. 

Bates.  -And  that's  a  wonder — you  have  no  time  to  lose ;  for  want 
of  a  jointure  you  are  still  your  father's  slave  ;  he  is  obstinate,  and  has 
promised  you  to  the  old  man  ;  now.  madam,  if  you  will  not  rise  superior 
to  your  sex's  weakness,  to  secure  a  young  fellow  instead  of  an  old 
one,  your  eyes  are  a  couple  of  hypocrites. 

Wid.  Tliey  are  a  couple  of  traitors,  I'm  sure,  and  have  led  their 
mistress  into  a  toil,  from  which  all  her  wit  cannot  release  her. 

Nep.  But  it  can,  if  you  will  but  exert  it ;  my  uncle  adored  and 
fell  in  love  with  you  for  your  beauty,  softness,  and  almost  speechless 
reserve.  Now,  if  amidst  all  his  rapturous  ideas  of  your  delicacy, 
you  would  bounce  upon  him  a  wild,  ranting,  buxom  widow,  he  will 
crow  sick  of  his  bargain,  and  give  me  a  fortune  to  take  you  off  his 
hands. 

Wid.  I  shall  make  a  very  bad  actress. 

Nep.  You  are  an  excellent  mimic ;  assume  but  the  character  of 
your  Irish  female  neighbor  in  the  country,  with  which  you  astonish- 


THE    IRISH    \VIDO^T. 


9 


ed  us  so  agreeably  at  Scarborough ;  you  will  frighten  my  uncle  into 
terms,  and  do  that  for  us  which  neither  my  love  nor  your  virtue  can 
accomjilish  without  it. 

Wid.  Now  for  a  trial.  [Mimiclcing  a  strong  hrogiic]  Fait  and 
trot,  if  you  will  be  after  bringing  me  before  the  old  jontleman,  if  he 
loves  music,  I  will  trate  his  ears  with  a  little  of  the  brogue,  and  some 
dancing  too  into  the  bargain  if  he  loves  capering. — '0  bless  me  !  my 
heart  fails  me,  and  I  am  frightened  out  of  my  wits ;  I  can  never  go 
through  with  it.  [Nkp.  and  Bates  both  laugh. 

Ncp.  [Kneeling  and  kissing  her  hand.]  0,  'tis  admirable  !  Love 
himself  inspires  vou,  and  we  shall  conquer;  what  sav  you  Mr. 
Bates  -? 

Bates.  I'll  insure  you  success ;  I  can  scarce  believe  my  own  ears  ; 
such  a  tongue  and  a  brogue  would  make  Hercules  tremble  at  five-and- 
twenty ;  but  away,  away,  and  give  him  a  broadside  in  the  Park  ; 
there  you'll  find  him  hobbling  with  that  old  cuckold.  Kecksey. 

Wid.  But  will  my  dress  suit  the  character  I  play  7 

JS^ej}.  Tlie  very  thing  ;  is  your  retinue  ready,  and  your  part  got  by 
heart  1 

Wid.  All  is  ready;  'tis  an  act  of  despair  to  punish  folly,  and  re- 
ward merit;  'tis  the  last  eflbrt  of  pure,  lionorable  love;  and  if 
every  woman  would  exert  the  same  spirit  for  the  same  out-of-fashion 
rarity,  there  would  be  less  business  for  Doctors'-commons.  Now  let 
the  critics  laugh  at  me  if  they  dare.  [Exit  with  spirit. 

Nep.  Brava  !  bravissima  1  sweet  widow  !  {Exit. 

Bates.  Huzza!   huzza!  [Exit. 

SCENE  III— The  Farh. 
Enter  Whittle  and  Kecksey. 
Whit.  Yes,  yes,  she  is  Irish,  but  so  modest,  so  mild,  and  so  tender, 
and  ju^t  enough  of  the  accent  to  give  a  peculiar  sweetness  to  herwords 
which  drop  from  her  in  monosyllables,  with  such  a  delicate  reserve, 
that  I  shall  have  all  the  comfort,  without  the  impertinence  of  a  wife. 
Keck.  There  our  taste  differs,  friend  ;  I  am  for  a  lively,  smart  girl 
in  my  house,  hugh  !    hugh  !    to  keep  up  my  spirits  and  mako  me 
merry  ;  I  don't  admire  dumb  waiters,  not  I,  no  still  life  for  me  ;  I 
love  the  i)rittle  luatlle,  it  sets  me  to  sleep ;  and  I  can  take  a  sound 
nap,  while  my  Sally  and  her  cousin  are  running  and  playing  about 
the  house  like  young  cats. 

Wlhit.  I  am  for  no  cats  in  my  house  ;  I  cannot  s-leep  with  a  noise  ; 
the  widow  was  made  on  purpose  for  me;  she  is  so  bashful,  has  no 
accpiaiiitance,  and  she  never  would  stir  out  of  doors  if  her  friends 
were  not  afraid  of  a  consumption;  and  so  force  her  into  the  air.  Such 
a  delicate  creature!  you  shall  see  her;  you  were  always  for  a  tall, 
chattering,  frisky  wench  ;  now,  for  my  part,  I  am  with  the  old 
saving, 

Wife  a  mouse, 
Quiet  house ; 
Wife  a  cat, 
Dreadful  that. 


10  'rnE   IRISH    WIDOW. 

Keck.  I  don't  care  for  your  sayinss — who's  afraid  1 

Whit.  There  coes  Bates,  let  us  avoid  him,  he  will  only  be  jolting 
M'itli  us ,  when  I  have  taken  a  serious  thing  into  my  head.  I  can't 
l)ear  to  have  it  laughed  out  again.  This  way,  friend  Kecksey. 
AVhal  have  we  got  here  1 

Keck.  [Looking  out.']  Some  fine  prancing  wench,  with  her  lovers 
and  footmen  about  her  ;  she's  a  gay  one  by  her  motions. 

miit.  Were  she  not  so  flaunting,  I  should  take  it  for No,  it  is 

impossible ;  and  yet  is  not  that  ray  nephew  with  her  ]  I  forbade 
him  s{)eaking  to  her  ;  it  can't  be  the  widow  ;  I  hope  it  is  not. 

Enter  ^Ywov:,  foUoicedhy  Xephew.  three  Footmex,  and  a  blackBor, 

Wid.  Don't  bother  me,  young  man  with  your  darts,  your  Cupid's 
and  your  pangs ;  if  you  had  half  of  'era  about  you  that  you  swear 
you  have,  they  would  have  cured  you,  by  killing  you  long  ago. 
"^Vould  you  have  rae  faitless  to  your  uncle,  hah  I  young  man  ?  "Was 
not  I  faiiful  to  you,  till  I  was  ordered  to  be  faitful  to  himl  But  I 
must  know  more  of  your  English  ways,  and  live  more  among  the  Eng- 
lish ladies,  to  learn  how  to  be  faitful  to  two  at  a  lime — and  so  there'.s 
ray  answer  for  you. 

Kep.  Then  I  know  mv  relief;  for  I  cannot  live  without  you, 

[Exit. 

Wicl.  Take  what  relief  you  plase,  j-oung  jontleman  ;  what  have  I 
to  do  with  datl  He  is  certainly  mad,  or  out  of  his  sinses,  for  he 
swears  he  can't  live  without  rae,  and  yet  he  talks  of  killing  himself  I 
How  does  he  make  out  dat  1  If  a  countryman  of  mine  had  made 
such  a  blunder,  they  would  have  put  it  into  all  the  newspapers,  and 
Faulkner's  Journal  beside  ;  but  an  Englishman  may  look  over  the 
hedge,  while  an  Irishman  must  not  stale  a  horse. 

Keck.  Is  this  the  widow,  friend  Whittle  1 

Whit.  I  don't  know,  [Sighinc/]  it  is,  and  it  is  not. 

Wid.  Your  servant,  Mr.  Whittol ;  I  wish  j'ou  would  spake  to  your 
nephew  not  to  be  whining  and  dangling  after  me  all  day  in  his  green 
coat.  It  is  not  for  ray  reputation  that  he  should  follow  rae  about 
like  a  beggar-man,  and  ask  me  for  what  I  had  given  him  along  ago, 
but  have  since  bestowed  upon  you,  Mr.  Whittol. 

Whit.  He  is  an  impudent  beggar,  and  shall  be  really  so,  for  his 
disobedience. 

Wid.  As  he  can't  live  without  me,  you  know,  it  will  be  charity  to 
.<;tarve  him  ;  I  wish  the  poor  young  man  dead  with  all  my  heart,  as 
he  thinks  it  will  do  him  a  great  deal  of  good. 

Keck.  [To  Whittle.]  She  is  tender,  indeed!  and  I  think  she  has 
the  brogue  a  little — hugh,  hugh  ! 

Whit.  'lis  stronger  to-day  than  ever  I  heard  it.  [Staring. 

Wid.  And  are  you  talking  of  ray  brogue  1  It  is  always  the  most 
fullest  when  the  wind  is  aesterly  ;  it  has  the  same  effect  upon  me,  as 
upon  stammering  people — they  can't  spake  for  their  impediment,  and 
ray  tongue  is  fix'd  so  loose  in  ray  raouth,  I  can't  stop  it  for  the  life  of 
me. 

Whit.  What  a  terrible  raisfortune.  friend  Kecksev ! 


THE    IRISH    WIDOW.  H 

Keclc.  Not  at  all ;  the  more  tongue  the  better,  say  I. 
Wid.  When  the  wind  clianges  I  have  no  brogue  at  all.  at  all.  But 
come  Mr.  Whittol,  don't  let  ii.s  be  vulgar  and  talk  of  our  poor  rela- 
tions. It  is  impossible  to  be  in  this  metropolis  of  London,  and  have 
any  thought  but  of  operas;  plays,  masquerades,  and  pantaons,  to 
keep  up  one's  spirits  in  the  winter  ;  and  Vauxhall  fireworks  to  cool 
and  refresh  one  in  the  summer.     La,  la,  la  !  [Sing!;. 

Whit.  1  protest  she  puts  me  into  a  sweat;    we  shall  have  a  mob 
about  us. 
'  Keck.  The  more  the  merrier,  I  say — who's  afraid  ? 

Wid.  How  the  people  stare '  as  if  they  never  saw  a  woman's  voice 
before ;  but  my  vivacity  has  got  the  better  of  my  good  manners. 
This,  I  suppose,  this  strange  gentleman  is  a  near  friend  and  relation, 
and  as  such,  notwithstanding  his  appearance,  I  shall  always  trate  him 
though  I  might  dislike  him  upon  a  nearer  acquaintance. 

Keck.  Madame,  you  do  me  honor  ;  I  like  your  frankness,  and  I 
like  your  person,  and  I  envy  my  friend  Whittle  ;  and  if  you  were  not 
engaged,  and  I  were  not  married,  I  would  endeavor  to  make  my.self 
agreeable  to  yoa,  that  I  would — hugh  !  hugh  ! 

Wid.  And,  indeed,  sir,  it  would  be  very  agreeable  to  me  ;  for  if  I 
did  hate  you  as  much  as  I  did  my  first  dare  husband,  I  should  always 
liave  the  comfort,  that  in  all  human  probability,  my  torments  would 
i]ot  last  long. 

Keck.  She  utters  something  more  than  monosyllables,  friend  ;  this 
is  better  than  bargain :  she  has  a  fine  bold  way  of  talking. 
Whit.  More  bold  than  welcome  !  I  am  struck  all  of  a  heap. 
Wid.  What,  are  you  low  spirited,  my  dare  Mr.  Whittol  1  When 
you  were  at  Scarborough,  and  winning  my  affections,  you  wei'e  all 
mirth  and  gayety ;  and  now  you  have  won  me,  you  are  as  thoughtful 
about  It  as  if  we  had  been  married  some  time. 

Whit.  Indeed,  madame,  I  can't  but  say  I  am  a  little  thoughtful — 
we  take  it  by  turns  ;  you  were  very  sorrowful  a  month  ago  for  the 
loss  of  your  husband,  and  that  you  could  dry  up  your  tears  so  soon, 
naturally  makes  me  a  little  thoughtful. 

Wid..  Indeed  I  could  dry  uf)  my  tears  for  a  dozen  husbands,  when 
I  was  sure  of  having  a  thirteenth  like  Mr.  Whittol ;  that's  very  natu- 
ral, sure,  both  in  England  and  Dublin,  i.oo. 

Keck.  She  won't  die  of  a  consumption  •,    she  has  a  fine  full-toned 
voice,  and  you'll  be  very  hajjpy,  Tom — hugh  !   hugh  ! 
Whit-  Oh!  yes,  very  happy. 

Wid.  But  come,  don't  let  us  be  melancholy  before  the  time  ;  I  am 
sure  I  liave  been  moped  up  for  a  year  and  a  half — I  was  obliged  to 
mourn  for  my  first  husband,  that  I  might  be  sure  of  a  second  ;  and 
my  father  kept  my  spirits  in  subjection,  as  llie  best  recipe  (he  said) 
for  changing  a  widow  into  a  wife;  but  now  I  have  my  arms  and  legs 
at  liberty,  I  must  and  will  have  my  swing;  now  I  am  out  of  my  cage, 
I  could  dance  two  nights  together,  and  a  day  too,  like  any  singing 
bird  ;  and  I'm  in  such  spirits  that  I  have  got  rid  of  my  father,  I  could 
(ly  over  the  moon  without  wings,  and  back  again,  before  dimier. 
bless  my  eyes,   and  don't  I  spc  there   Miss  Nancy  O'Flarty,  and  her 


1:^  THE    IIMSIl    WIDOW. 

brotliev  C.iiitaiu  O'Flaity  1  He  was  one  of  wij'  dj-ing  Strephons  at 
Scarborough  ;  I  liave  a  very  srate  regard  for  him,  and  uuist  make 
him  a  little  miserable  with  my  happiness.  [Curtesies.]  Come  alonu. 
skii>s,  [^0  the  servants,]  don't  you  be  gostring  there  ;  show  your  live- 
ries, and  bow  to  your  master  that  is  to  be,  and  to  his  friend,  and  hold 
up  your  l»eads,  and  trip  alter  me  as  lightly  as  if  you  liad  no  legs  to 
your  feet.  I  shall  be  with  you  again,  jontlemen,  in  the  crack  of  a  fan 
— Oh  !  I'll  have  a  husband  !  ay  marry. 

[Exit  singing,  followed  by  footmen. 

Keck.  A  fine  buxom  widow,  laith  !  no  acquaintance — delicate  re- 
serve— mopes  at  home — forced  into  the  air — incline:!  to  a  consump- 
tion. What  a  discription  you  gave  of  your  wife!  Why  she  beats  my 
Sally,  Tom. 

Whit.  Yes,  and  slie'll  beat  me  if  I  don't  take  care  !  what  a  change 
'is  here  !  I  must  turn  about,  or  this  will  turn  luy  head.  Dance  for 
two  nights  together,  and  leap  over  the  moon  1  you  shall  dance  and 
leap  by  yourself,  that  I  am  resolved. 

Keck.  Here  she  comes  again  ;  it  does  my  heart  good  to  see  her — 
you  are  in  luck,  Tom. 

Whit.  I'd  give  a  finger  to  be  out  of  such  luck. 

Re-enter  Widow,  ^c. 

Wid.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  the  poor  captain  is  marched  off  in  a  fury.  Ho 
can't  bear  to  hear  that  the  town  has  capitulated  to  you,  Mr.  Whittol. 
I  have  promised  to  introduce  him  to  you.  He  will  make  one  of  my 
danglers  to  take  a  little  exercise  with  me,  when  you  take  your  nap 
in  the  afternoon, 

Whit.  You  shan't  catch  me  napping,  I  assure  you.  What  a  dis- 
covery and  escape  I  have  made !  I  tremble  with  the  thought  of  my 
danger !  [Aside. 

Keck.  I  protest,  cousin,  there  goes  my  wife,  and  her  friend,  Mr. 
Mac  Brawn.  What  a  fine  stately  couple  they  ai-e !  I  must  after  'em 
and  have  a  laugh  with  them — now  they  giggle  and  walk  quick,  that  I 
mayn't  overtake  'em.  Madame,  your  servant.  You're  a  happy  man, 
Tom.     Keep  up  your  spirits  old  boy.     Hugh  !  hugh  !  who's  afraid. 

[Exit. 

Wid.  I  know  Mr.  Mac  Brawn  extremely  well — he  was  very  inti- 
mate at  our  house,  in  my  first  husband's  time  ;  a  great  comfort  he 
was  tome  to  be  sure  !  he  would  very  often  leave  his  claret  and  compas- 
sions for  a  little  conversation  with  me.  He  was  bred  at  tlie  Dublin 
utdversity,  and  being  a  very  deep  scholar,  has  fine  talents  for  a  tate- 
a-tate. 

Whit.  She  knows  him,  too !  I  shall  have  my  house  overrun  with 
the  Mac  Brawns,  O'Shoulders,  and  tha  blood  of  the  Blackwells.  Lord 
have  meicy  upon  mc  !  [Aside. 

Wid.  Pray,  Mr.  Whittol,  is  that  poor  spindle-legged  crater  of  a 
coiLsin  of  yours,  lately  married  7  ha,  ha,  ha  !  I  don't  pity  the  poor 
crater  his  wife,  for  that  agraable  cough  of  his,  will  soon  reward  her 
for  her  sufferings. 

Whit,  What  a  delivery  !  a  reprieve  before  the  knot  was  tied. 

fAsid^. 


THE    IRISH   WIDOW.  18 

Wtd.  Are  you  unwell,  Mr.  Whiitol  1  I  should  be  sorry  you  would 
fall  sick  before  the  happy  day.  Your  beiiisr  in  danger  afterwards 
would  be  a  si"e<it  consolation  to  nie,  because  I  should  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  nursing  you  myself. 

Whit.  I  hope  never  to  give  you  tliat  trouble,  madame. 

Wid.  No  trouble,  at  all,  at  all ;  I  assure  you,  sir,  from  mj'  soul, 
that'/  shall  take  great  delight  in  the  occasion. 

Wl  it.  Indeed,  madame,  1  believe  it. 

Wi^.  I  don't  care  lu'W  soon,  the  sooner  the  better  ;  and  the  more 
rr  the  more  the  more  honor.;  I  spake  from  my  heart. 

^^i.it.  And  so  do  I  from  mine,  madame.  [Sighs. 

Wid.  But  don't  let  us  think  of  fnture  pleasure,  and  neglect  the 
present  satisfaction.  My  mantua  maker  is  waiting  for  me  to  choose 
my  clothes,  in  which  I  shall  forget  the  sorrows  of  Mrs.  Brady,  in  the 
joys  of  Mrs.  Whittol.  Though  1  have  no  fortune  myself,  I  shall  bring 
a  tolerable  one  to  you,  in  debts,  Mr.  Whittol,  and  which  I  will  pay 
you  tinfold  in  tenderness  ;  your  doej)  purse  and  my  o])on  heart,  will 
make  us  the  envy  of  the  little  grate  ones,  and  the  grate  little  ones  ; 
the  {)eople  of  quality  with  no  sf>uls,  and  grate  souls  with  no  cash  at 
all.  I  hope  you'll  meet  me  at  the  Pantaon  this  evening.  Lady  Ran- 
titon  and  her  daughter,  Miss  Nettledown,  and  Nancy  Tittup,  with 
half  a  dozen  maccaroonies,  and  t\v()  savory  vivers,  are  to  take  me 
there,  and  we  propose  a  grate  deal  of  cliat  and  merriment,  and  dan- 
cing all  night,  and  all  other  kind  of  recreations.  I  am  quite  another 
kind  of  crater,  now  I  am  a  bird  in  the  fields  ;  I  can  junket  about  a 
week  together  ;  I  have  a  fine  constitution,  and  am  never  never  mo- 
lested with  your  nasty  vapors  ;  are  vou  ever  troubled  with  vapors. 
Mr.  Whittol  1 

Whit.  A  little,  now  and  then,  madam. 

Wid.  Ml  rattle  'em  away  like  smoke  !  there  are  no  vapors  where 
I  come ;  I  hate  your  dumps,  and  j'our  nerves,  and  your  megrims ; 
and  I  had  much  rather  break  your  rest  with  a  little  racketing,  than 
let  anything  get  into  your  head  that  should  not  be  there,  Mr.  Whit- 
tol. 

Whit.  I  shall  tuke  care  that  nothing  shall  be  in  my  head,  but  what 
ought  to  Ite  there.     What  a  deliverance  !  [Aside. 

Wid.  [Looking  at  Iter  watch.]  Bic^^s  me!  how  the  hours  of  the 
clock  creep  away  when  Ave  are  plased  with  our  com[)any  ;  but  I  must 
lave  you,  for  there  are  half  a  hundred  people,  waiting  for  me  to  pick 
your  ))ockct.  Mi'.  Wliittol ;  and  there  is  my  o'.vn  brother,  lieutenant 
O'Neal,  is  U>  arrive  this  morning,  and  he  is  so  like  me  you  would  not 
know  us  asunder  when  wo  are  touether  ;  you  will  be  very  fond  of 
him,  poor  lad  !  he  lives  hy  his  wits,  as  you  do  by  your  fortune,  and 
so  you  may  assist  one  another.  Mr.  VVhittol,  your  ohacliant  till  we 
meet  at  the  Pantaon.  Follow  me  Pompey  ;  and  skips,  do  you  follow 
him. 

Pomp.  The  Baccararo  whitemen  not  let  blacky  boy  go  first  after 
you,  missis,  thev'  imll  and  jiincli  me. 

Foot.  It  is  a  shame,  your  iady.siiip,  that  a  black  negro  should  take 
place  of  Knglish  Christians — we  can't  follow  liini,  indeed. 


14  THK   lltlSIT    win<»\v. 

Wid.  Tlien  you  may  follow  one  anoMier  out  of  my  service ;  if  you 
follow  nic,  you  shall  follow  him,  for  he  shall  go  before  me;  therefore, 
resisii  as  fast  as  you  jjlase  ;  you  sliau't  oppose  aoverinneiit  and  keep 
your  j)Iaces  too,  that  is  nor.  2oorl  politic!-  in  England  or  Ireland  either, 
so  come  along,  l*omi>ey.  bo  after  ijoins  before  me.  ^h.  Wliittol,  most 
tenderly  yours.  \ Exeunt  Widow  and  Attend ant.s. 

Whit.  Most  tenderly  yours  1  [Municks  Iter.]  'Ecod,  I  believe  you 
are.  and  anybody's  el=e.  0.  ^vliat  an  escape  have  1  iiad  !  But  bow 
shall  I  clear  my.self  of  this  busine.ss  ?  Dl  serve  her  as  I  would  bad 
money,  put  her  oft'  into  other  hands  ;  my  nephew  is  fool  enough  to 
be  in  love  with  her,  and  if  I  sive  him  a  fortune  he'll  take  the  good 
and  the  bad  together — he  shall  do  so  or  starve.  I'll  semi  for  Bates 
directly,  confess  my  folly,  ask  his  pardon,  send  him  to  my  nephew, 
write  and  declare  ofl"  with  tiie  widow,  and  so  get  rid  of  her  tinderness 
as  fast  as  I  can.  [Exit. 


ACT    II. 

SCENE  I. — A  room  in  Whittle'.s  house. 

Enter  Bates  and  Whittle. 

Whit.  "Well,  Mr.  Bates,  have  you  talked  with  my  nephew;  is  he 
not  overjoyed  at  the  proposal  1 

Bates.  The  demon  of  discord  has  been  amons  you  and  has  untuned 
♦  he  whole  family ;  you  have  screwed  him  too  high  ;  the  young  man  is 
out  of  his  senses.  I  think  ;  he  stares,  mopes  about,  and  sighs  ;  looks 
at  me  indeed,  but  gives  very  absurd  answers  ;  I  don't  like  him. 

Wliit.  "What  is  the  matter,  think  you  1 

Bates.  What  I  have  always  expected  ;  there  is  a  crack  in  your 
family  and  you  take  it  by  turns  !  you  have  had  it,  and  now  transfer 
it  to  your  nephew  ;  which,  to  your  shame  be  it  spoken,  is  the  only 
transfer  you  have  ever  made  him. 

Wliit.  But,  am  I  not  going  to  do  him  more  than  justice  1 

Bates.  As  you  have  done  much  less  than  justice  hitherto,  you 
can't  begin  too  soon. 

Whit.  Am  not  I  going  to  give  him  the  lady  he  likes,  and  which  I 
was  going  to  marry  myself  1 

Bates.  Yes  ;  that  is,  you  are  taking  a  perpetual  blister  off  your 
own  back,  to  clap  it  upon  his.     AVhat  a  tender  tuicle  you  are  I 

W'hit.  But  you  don't  consider  the  estate  which  I  shall  give  him. 

Bates.  Restore  to  him,  you  mean — 'tis  his  own,  and  you  should 
liave  given  it  up  long  ago;  you  must  do  more,  or  old  Nick  will  have 
you  ;  your  nephew  won't  take  the  widow  off  your  hands  without  a 
fortune  :  tlirow  ten  thousand  into  the  bargain. 


TMfi   IRISH   WIDOW.  15- 

Wliit.  Indeed  but  I  slian't;  lie  shall  run  mad,  and  I'll  marry  her 
myself  rather  than  do  that.  Mr.  Bates  be  a  true  friend,  and  sooth 
my  nephew  to  consent  to  my  proposal. 

Bates.  You  have  raised  tlie  fiend,  and  ought  to  lay  him  ;  however, 
I'll  do  my  best  for  you;  when  the  head  is  turned,  nothini^  can  biing 
it  right  again  so  soon  as  ten  thousand  pounds  ;  shall  I  promise  for 
you  ? 

Whit.  I'll  sooner  go  to  Bedlam  myself.  [Exit  Bates.]  Why,  I'm  in 
a  worse  condition  than  I  was  before.  If  this  widow's  father  will  not 
let  me  off  without  providing  for  his  daughter,  I  may  lose  a  great  sum 
of  money,  and  none  of  us  be  the  better  of  it ;  my  nephew  half  mail ; 
myself  half  married  ;  and  no  remedy  for  either  of  us. 
Enter   Servant. 

Serv.  Sir  Patrick  O'Neale  is  come  to  wait  upon  you,  would  you 
please  to  see  him  1 

Whit.  By  all  means  the  verj"^  person  I  wanted  ;  don't  let  him  wait. 
\E.nt  Servant.]  I  wonder  if  he  has  seen  mj'  letter  to  the  widow ;  I 
will  sound  him  by  degrees,  that  I  may  be  sure  of  mj'  mark  before  I 
strike  the  blow. 

Enter  Sir  Patrick  O'Neale. 

Sir  P.  Mr.  Whizzle,  your  humble  servant ;  it  gives  me  great  plea- 
sure, that  an  old  jontleman  of  your  property,  will  have  the  honor  of 
being  united  with  the  family  of  the  O'Neale's ;  we  have  been  too 
much  jontleman  not  to  spend  our  estate,  as  you  have  made  yourself 
a  kind  of  jontleman  by  getting  one;  one  runs  out  one  way,  and  'tother 
runs  in  another,  which  makes  them  both  meet  at  last,  and  keeps  up 
the  balance  of  Europe. 

Whit.  I  am  much  obliged  to  yon.  Sir  Patrick  ;  I  am  an  old  gentle- 
man, you  say  true;  and  1  was  thinking — - 

Sir  P.  And  I  was  thinking  if  you  was  ever  so  old  my  daughter 
can  make  you  young  again  ;  she  has  as  fine,  rich,  tick  blood  in  her 
veins  as  any  in  all  Ireland.  I  wish  you  had  a  swate  crater  of  a 
dausjhter  like  mine,  that  we  might  make  a  double  cross  of  it. 

Whit.  That  would  be  a  double  cross  indeed  I  \Aside. 

Sir  P.  Though  I  was  miserable  enough  with  my  first  wife,  who 
had  the  devil  of  a  spirit,  and  the  very  model  of  her  daughter,  yet  a 
brave  man  never  shrinks  from  danger,  and  I  may  have  better  luck 
another  time. 

Whit.  Yes,  but  I  am  no  brave  man,  Sir  Patrick,  and  I  begin  to 
shrink  already. 

Sir  P.  I  have  bred  her  up  in  great  subjection ;  she  is  as  tame  as  a 
young  colt,  and  as  tinder  as  a  sucking  chicken  ;  you  will  find  her  a 
true  jontlewoinan,  and  so  knowing  that  you  can  teach  her  nothing  ;  she 
brings  everything  but  money,  and  you  have  enough  of  that,  if  you 
liave  nothing  else,  and  that  is  what  I  call  the  balance  of  things. 

Whit.  But  I  have  been  considering  your  daughter's  great  deserts, 
and  iny  groat  age 

Sir  P.  She  is  a  charming  creature  ;  I  would  venture  to  say  that, 
if  i  was  not  her  faliier. 

Wliit.  I  say,  sir,  as  I  have  been  considering  your  daughter's  great 
deserts,  and  asi  I  own  I  have  great  demerits 


16  TIIK    IRISH    WIDOW. 

Sir  p.  To  be  sure  you  have,  but  you  can't  helj)  tliat ;  and  if  my 
daughter  was  toinentioii  anything  of  a  flcpriiiD;  at  your  age,  or  youi' 
stiuLiinpss,  by  ilie  ba]ai;co  of  ])o\vpr.  but  I  would  make  lier  repate  it 
a  liuiiib'ed  times  to  your  face,  to  make  her  asJiamed  of  it ;  but  mum, 
old  nentlcinau.  tlie  devil  a  word  of  your  infirmities,  will  she  toucli 
ui)oii ;  I  have  brought  her  up  to  softness  and  to  gentleness,  as  a  kitten 
to  new  milk  ;  she  will  spake  nothing  but  no  and  j'es,  as  if  slie  were 
dumb;  and  no  tame  rabbit  or  pigeon  will  keep  house,  or  be  more  in- 
janions  with  her  needle  and  tamboriiie. 

Wkit.  She  is  vastly  altered  then  since  I  saw  ber  last,  or  I  have  lost 
my  senses,  and  in  either  case  we  had  much  better,  since  I  must  speak 
plain,  not  come  together — 

Sir  P.  Till  you  are  married,  you  mean — with  all  my  heart,  it  is 
the  more  gentale  for  that,  and  like  our  famil}'  ;  I  never  saw  Lady 
O'Neale,  your  mother-in-law,  who,  poor  crater,  is  dead,  and  can  never 
be  a  mother-in-law  again,  till  the  week  before  I  married  her  ;  and  I 
did  not  care  if  I  had  never  seen  her  then,  which  is  a  comfort  too,  in 
case  of  death,  or  accidents  in  life. 

Mliit.  But  yon  don't  understand  me,  sir  Patrick,  I  say — 
Sir  P.  I  say,  how  can  that  be,  when  we  both  spake  English  1 
Whit,  But  you  mistake  my  meaning,  and  don't  comprehend  me. 
Sir.  P.  Then  you  don't  comprehend  yourself,  jNIr.  Whizzle,  and  I 
liave  not  the  gift  of  prophecy  to  find  out,  after  you  have  spoke  what 
never  was  in  you. 

Whit.  Let  me  entreat  you  to  attend  to  me  a  little. 

Sir  P.  I  do  attend,  man  ;    I  don't  interrupt  you — out  with  it. 

Whit.   Your  daughter 

Sir  P.  Your  wife  that  is  to  be.     Go  on. 

Whit.  My  wife  that  is  not  to  be.    Zounds  !  will  you  hear  me  1 
Sir  P.  To  be,  or  not  to  be,  is  that  the  question  1     I  can  swear  too, 
if  if  wants  a  little  of  that. 

Whit.  Dear  Sir  Patrick,  hear  me.  I  confess  myself  unworthy  of 
her  ;  I  have  the  greatest  regard  for  you.  Sir  Patrick  ;  I  should  think 
myself  honored  by  being  in  your  family,  but  there  are  many  rea- 
sons  

Sir  p.  To  be  sure  there  are  many  reasons  why  an  old  man  should 
not  marry  a  young  woman  ;  but  that  was  your  business  and  not  mine. 
Wiit.  I  liave  wnite  a  letter  to  your  daughter,  which  I  was  in  hopes 
you  had  seen,  and  brought  me  an  answer  to  it. 

Sir.  P.  What  the  devil,  Mr.  AVhizzle,  do  you  make  a  letter-porter 
of  me  1  Do  you  imagine  you  dirty  fellow,  with  your  cash,  that  Sir 
Patrick  O'Neale  would  carry  your  letters  1  I  would  have  you  know 
that  I  despise  letters  and  all  tiiat  belong  to  'em  ;  nor  would  I  carry  a 
letter  to  the  king,  heaven  bless  him,  unless  it  came  from  myself. 
Whit.  But  dear  Sir  Patrick,  don't  be  in  a  passion  for  nothing. 
Sir  P.  AVhat,  is  it  nothing  to  make  a  penny-postman  of  me?  But 
I'll  go  to  my  daughter  directly,  for  I  have  not  seen  her  to-day  ;  and 
if  I  find  that  you  have  written  anything  that  I  won't  understand,  I 
.sliall  take  it  as  an  aflront  to  my  family  ;  and  you  .shall  either  let  out 
the  iiolde  blood  of  the  O'Neales,  or  I  will  spill  the  last  drop  of  the  red 


THE   IRISH   WIDOW.  17 

puddle  of  the  Whizzles.  [Going — Returns.]  Hark3'e,  you,  Mr.  Wliiz- 
zle,  Wheezzle,  Whistle,  what's  your  name  1  You  must  not  stir  till  I 
come  back  ;  If  you  oflor  to  ate,  drink,  or  sleep,  till  my  honor  is  satis- 
fied, 'twill  be  the  worst  male  you  ever  took  iu  your  life  ;  you  had 
better  fast  a  year,  and  die  at  the  end  of  six  months,  than  dare  to  lave 
j'our  house.     So  now,  Mr.  AVeezle,  you  are  to  do  as  you  plase. 

[Exit. 
Whit.  Now  the  devil  is  at  work  indeed  !  if  some  miracle  don't  save 
me,  1  shall  run  mad  like  my  nephew,  and  have  a  long  Irish  sword 
through  me  into  the  bargain. 

Enter  Thomas. 

Sad  work,  Thomas  ! 

Tlio.  Sad  work,  indeed  !  why  would  you  think  of  marrying  1  I 
knew  what  it  would  come  to. 

Whit.  Wliy,  wjjat  is  it  come  to  1 

Tho.  It  is  in  all  the  papers. 

Whit.  So  much  the  better,  then  nobody  will  believe  it. 

Tho.  But  they  come  to  me  to  inquire. 

Whit.  And  you  contradict  it  1 

Tho.  Wliat  signifies  that  1  I  was  telling  Lady  Gabble's  footman,  at 
the  door  just  now,  that  it  was  all  a  lie,  and  your  nephew  looks  out  of 
the  two-pair-of-stairs  window,  with  eyes  all  on  lire,  and  tells  the 
whole  story  ;  upon  that,  there  gathered  such  a  mob  ! 

Whit.  I  shall  be  murdered,  and  have  my  house  pulled  down  into 
the  bargain. 

Tho.  It  is  all  quiet  again.  I  told  them  the  young  man  was  out  of 
his  senses,  and  that  you  were  out  of  town  ;  so  they  went  away  quietly, 
and  said  they  would  come  and  mob  you  another  time. 

Wldt.  Tliomas,  what  shall  I  do  ? 

Tho.  Nothing  you  have  done,  if  you  will  have  matters  amend. 

Whit.  I  am  out  of  my  depth,  and  you  won't  lend  me  your  hand  to 
draw  me  out. 

Tho.  You  were  out  of  your  depth  to  fall  in  love ;  swim  away  as  fast 
as  you  can,  you'll  be  drowned  if  you  marry. 

Whit.  I'm  frightened  out  of  my  wits  ;  yes,  yes,  'tis  all  over  with 
me  ;  I  must  not  stir  out  of  my  house  ;  but  am  ordered  to  stay  to  be 
murdered  in  it  for  aught  I  know.  What  are  you  muttering  Thomas'! 
Pr'ythee  speak  out  and  comfort  me. 

Tho.  It  is  all  a  judgment  upon  you  ;  because  your  brother's  foolish 
will,  says,  the  young  man  must  have  your  consent,  you  won't  let  him 
have  her,  but  will  marry  the  widow  yourself  ;  that's  the  dog  in  the 
manner  :  you  can't  eat  the  oats,  and  won't  let  those  who  can. 

Wliit.  lint  I  consent  that  he  shall  have  both  the  widow  and  the  for- 
tune, if  we  can  get  him  into  his  right  senses. 

Tho.  For  fear  I  should  lose  mine,  I'll  get  out  of  Bedlam  as  soon  as 
possible ;  you  must  provide  yourself  with  anotlicr  servant. 

Whit.  The  wliole  earth  consjjires  against  me  !  you  shall  stay  with 
me  till  I  die,  and  then  you  shall  have  a  good  legacy,  and  I  won't  live 
long,  I  promise  you.  [Knocking  at  the  door. 


18  THE   IRISH  WIDOW. 

77io.  Here  are  the  undertakers  already.  [Exit. 

Whit.  "What  shall  I  do  1  my  head  can't  bear  it ;  I  will  hang  myself 
for  fear  of  being  run  llirough  the  body. 

Re-enter  Thomas,  ivith  bills. 

Tho.  Half  a  score  people  I  never  saw  before,  with  these  bills  and 
drafts  upon  you  for  payment ;  signed  Martha  Brady. 

Wliit.  I  wish  Martha  Brady  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  Thames  !  what 
an  impudent,  extravagant  baggage,  to  begin  her  tricks  ahead}' !  send 
them  to  the  devil,  and  say  I  won't  pay  a  farthing  I 

Tho.  You'll  have  another  mob  about  the  door.  [Going. 

Whit.  Stay,  stay,  Thomas ;  tell  them  I  am  very  busy,  and  they 
must  come  to-morrow  morning  ; — stay,  stay,  that  is  promising  pay- 
ment ;  no,  no,  no — tell  'em  they  must  stay  till  I  nm  married,  and  so 
they  will  be  satisfied,  and  tricked  into  the  bargain. 

tho.  When  you  are  tricked  we  shall  be  satisfied. 

[Aside  and  exit. 

^Vhit.  That  of  all  dreadful  things-  I  should  think  of  a  woman,  and 
that  woman  should  be  a  widow,  and  that  widow  should  be  an  Irish 
one  ! — Who  have  we  here  1    Another  of  the  family  I  suppose. 

[Retires 

Enter  Widow  as  Lieuten'Ant  O'Neale,  seemingly  fluttered,  and  put- 
ting up  his  sword,  Taoyi&s  following. 

Tlio.  I  hope  you  are  not  hurt,  captain. 

Wid..  0,  not  at  all,  at  all ;  'tis  well  they  run  away,  or  I  should  have 
made  them  run  faster ;  I  shall  teach  them  how  to  snigger  and  look 
through  glasses  at  their  betters;  these  are  your  macaroons,  as  the}' 
call  themselves ;  by  my  soul  but  I  would  have  tausht  them  better 
manners,  if  they  would  have  stood  still  till  I  had  overtaken  them  ;  these 
whipper-snappers  look  so  much  more  like  girls  in  breeches,  than 
those  I  see  in  petticoats,  that  fait  and  trot,  it  is  a  pity  to  hurt  'em ; 
but  to  business  ;  friend,  where  is  your  master  1 

Tho.  There,  captain  ;  I  hope  he  has  not  offended  you. 

Wid.  If  you  are  impartinent,  sir,  you  will  oflend  me ;  lave  the 
room. 

Tho.  I  value  my  life  too  much  not  to  do  that — what  a  raw-boned 
Tartar  !     I  wish  he  had  not  been  caught  and  sent  here. 

[Aside  to  Whittle  ;  exit. 

Whit.  Her  brother,  by  all  that's  terrible  !  and  as  like  as  two  tigers  ! 
I  sweat  at  the  sight  of  him  ;  I'm  sorry  Thomas  is  gone  ;  he  has  been 
quarrelling  already.  [Aside. 

Wid.  Is  your  name  Whittol  1 

Whit.  My  name  is  Whittle,  not  Whittol. 

Wid,  We  shan't  stand  for  triflles — and  you  were  born  and  christen- 
ed by  the  name  of  Thomas  1 

Whit.  So  they  told  me,  sir. 

Wid.  Then  they  told  no  lies,  fait ;  so  far,  so  good.  [TaTces  out  a 
letter.]  Do  you  know  that  hand-writing  1 


THE    IRISH    WIDOW.  19 

Whit.  As  well  as  I  know  this  good  friend  of  mine,  who  helps  me 
upon  such  occasions.  \_Showing  his  right  hand,  and  smiling. 

Wid.  You  had  better  not  show  j-our  teeth,  sir,  till  we  come  to  the 
jokes — the  hand-writing  is  yours. 

Wiiit.  Yes,  sir,  it  is  mine.  [Sighs. 

Wid.  Death  and  powder !  what  do  j'ou  sigh  for  1  Are  you  ashamed 
or  sorry,  for  your  handy- works  1 
Whit.  Partly  one,  partly  t'other. 

Wid.  Will  you  be  plased,  sir  to  rade  it  aloud,  that  you  may  know- 
it  again  when  you  hare  it. 

Whit.  [Takes  the  letter  and  reads.'\  "Madam" 

Wid.  AVould  you  be  plased  to  let  us  know  what  madam  you  mean  1 
For  women  of  quality,  and  women  of  no  quality,  and  women  of  all 
qualities,  are  so  mixed  together,  that  you  don't  know  one  from  'tother, 
and  are  all  called  madams  ;  you  should  always  read  the  subscription 
before  j'ou  open  the  letter. 

Whit.  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir. — I  don't  like  this  ceremony.  \^Aside. 
"  To  Mrs.  Brady,  in  Pali-Mall." 

Wid.  Now  prosade — fire  and  powder,  but  T  would — 

Whit.   Sir,  what's  the  matter "? 

Wid.  Nothing  at  all,  sir;  pray  go  on. 

Whit.  "  Madam, — As  I  prefer  your  happiness  to  the  indulgence  of 

my  own  passions" 

Wid.  I  will  not  prefer  your  happiness  to  the  indulgence  of  my  pas- 
sions— Mr.  Whittol,  rade  on. 

Whit.  "  I  must  confess  that  I  am  unworthy  ,of  your  charms  and 
virtues." 

Wid.  Very  unworthy,  indeed  ;  rade  on,  sir. 

Whit.  "  I  have,  for  some  days,  had  a  severe  struggle  between  my 

justice  and  my  passion" 

Wid.  I  have  had  no  struggle  at  all ;  my  justice  and  passion  are 
agreed. 

Whit.  "  The  former  has  prevailed,  and  I  beg  leave  to  resign  you, 
with  all  your  accomplishments,  to  some  more  deserving,  though  not 
more  admiring  servant,  than  your  miserable  and  devoted, 

•Thomas  Whittle." 
Wid.  And  miserable  and  devoted  you  shall  be — to  the  postscript ; 
rade  on. 

Whtt.  "  Postscript :— let  me  have  your  pitj',  but  not  your  anger. 
Wid.  In  answer  to  this  love  epistle,   [Snatches  the  letter]    you  piti- 
ful fellow,  my  sister  ])resents  you  with  her  tinderest  wishes,  and  as- 
sures you  that  you  have,  as  you  desire,  her  pity,  and  she  generously 
throws  her  contempt  too  into  the  bargain. 

[  Tears  the  letter  and  throivs  it  at  him. 
Whit.  I  am  infinitely  obliged  to  her. 

Wid.  I  must  beg  leave  in  the  name  of  all  our  family  to  present  the 
same  to  you. 

Whit.  I  am  ditto  to  all  the  family. 

Wid.  But  as  a  brache  of  promise  to  any  of  our  family  ^vas  never 
suftered  without  a  brache  into  somebody's  body,  I  have  fixed  upon 


20  THE  IRISH   TVIDOW. 

myself  to  be  your  operator ;  and  I  believe  that  you  will  find  that  I 
have  as  fine  a  hand  at  this  work,  and  Mill  give  j^ou  as  little  pain,  as 
any  in  the  three  kingdoms. 

[Sits  down,  and  looses  her  Jcnee-bands. 

Wliit.  For  heaven's  sake,  captain,  what  are  you  about  1 

Wid.  I  always  loosen  my  garters  for  the  advantage  of  lunging ;  it 
is  for  your  sake  as  well  as  my  own,  for  I  shall  be  twice  through  your 
body,  before  you  shall  feel  me  once. 

Whit.  What  a  terrible  fellow  it  is  !  I  wish  Thomas  would  come  in. 

[Aside. 

Wid.  Come,  sir.  prepare  j'ourself;  you  are  not  the  first,  by  half  a 
score,  that  I  have  run  through  and  through  the  heart,  before  they 
knew  what  was  the  matter  with  them. 

Wliit.  But  captain,  suppose  I  will  marry  your  sister  1 

Wid.  I  have  not  the  laste  objection,  if  you  recover  of  your 
wounds.  Callashan  O'Connor  lives  very  happy  with  my  great  aunt, 
jNIrs.  Deborah  O'Neale,  in  the  county  of  Galway  ;  except  a  small  as- 
thma he  got  by  my  running  him  through  the  lungs  at  tlie  Currough ;  he 
would  have  forsaken  her,  if  I  had  not  stopped  his  perfidy  by  a  famous 
family  styptic  I  have  here  ;  0,  ho !  my  little  old  boy,  but  you  shall 
get  it.  [Draivs. 

Whit.  What  shall  I  do  1 — well,  sir,  if  I  must,  I  must ;  I'll  meet 
you  to-morrow  morning  in  Hyde-park,  let  the  consequences  be  what 
it  will. 

Wid,.  For  fear  you  misht  forget  that  favor,  I  must  beg  to  be  in- 
dulged with  a  little  pushing  now;  I  have  set  my  heart  upon  it;  and 
two  birds  in  hand,  is  worth  one  in  the  bushes,  Mr.  Whittol — come 
sir. 

Whit.  But  T  have  not  settled  my  matters. 

Wid.  0,  we'll  settle  'era  in  a  trice,  I  warrant  you. 

[Puts  herself  in  a  position. 

Whit.  But  I  don't  understand  the  sword  ;  I  had  rather  fight  with 
pistols. 

Wid.  I  am  very  happy  it  is  in  my  power  to  oblige  you  ;  there  sir, 
take  your  choice;  I  will  plase  you  if  I  can.  [Offers  pistols. 

Whit.  Out  of  the  pan  into  the  fire  ;  there's  no  putting  him  off;  if 
I  had  chosen  poison,  I  dare  swear  he  liad  arsenic  in  his  pocket. 
[Aside.]  Look  ye,  young  gentleman,  I  am  an  old  man,  and  you'll  get 
no  credit  by  killing  me ;  but  I  have  a  nephew  as  j'oung  as  j'ourself, 
and  you'll  get  more  honor  in  facing  him. 

Wid.  Ay,  and  more  pleasure  too — I  expect  ample  satisfaction  from 
him,  after  I  have  done  your  business ;  prepare  sir. 

Whit.  What,  the  devil ;  won't  one  serve  your  turn  1  I  can't  fight, 
and  I  won't  fight;  I'll  do  anything  rather  than  fight:  I'll  marry 
your  sister  ;  my  nephew  shall  marry  her  ;  I'll  give  him  all  mv  for- 
tune ;  what  would  the  fellow  have  1  Here,  nephew  !  Thomas  ! "mur- 
der !  murder  !  [He flees  and  she  pursues. 

Enter  Bates  and  Nephew. 

Nep.  What's  the  matter,  uncle  ? 


THE    IRISH    WIDOVT.  21 

Whit.  JMurder,  that's  all ;  that  ruffian  there  would  kill  me,  aud  eat 
nie  afterwards. 

Nep.  I'll  find  a  waj'  to  cool  him  !  come  out.  sflr,  I  am  as  mad  as 
yourself;  I'll  watch  you.  [Going  out  with  him. 

Wid.  I'll  follow  you  all  the  world  over.  [Going  after  him. 

Whit.  Stay,  stay  nephew,  you  shan't  fi£;ht ;  we  shall  be  exposed 
all  over  the  town,  and  you  may  lose  your  life,  and  I  shall  be  cursed 
from  mornins  to  night ;  do,  nephew,  make  yourself  and  me  happy  ; 
be  the  olive-branch,  and  bring  peace  into  my  family  ;  return  to  the 
widow  ;  I  will  give  you  my  consent,  and  your  fortune,  and  a  fortune 
to  the  widow,  five  thousand  pounds  !    Do  persuade  him,  Mr.  Bates. 

Bates.  Do  sir  ;  this  is  a  very  critical  point  of  your  life  ;  I  know 
you  love  her ;  'tis  the  only  method  to  restore  us  all  to  our  senses. 

Xep.  I  must  talk  in  private  first  with  this  hot  young  gentleman. 
Wid.  As  private  as  you  plase,  sir. 

Whit.  Take  their  weapons  away,  Mr.  Bates  ;  and  do  you  follow  me 
to  my  study,  to  witness  my  proposal ;  it  is  all  ready,  and  only  wants 
signing  ;  come  along !  come  along.  [Exit. 

Bates.  Vtctoria  !  Victoria  !  give  me  your  swords  and  pistols ;  and 
now  do  your  worst,  you  spirited,  loving  young  couple  ;  I  could  leap 
out  of  my  skin  !  [Exit.    ' 

Nep.  0,  my  channing  widow !  what  a  day  have  we  gone  through  ! 

Wid.  I  would  go  through  ten  times  as  much  to  deceive  an  old 
amorous  spark,  like  your  uncle,  to  purchase  a  young  one  like  his 
nephew. 

Nep.  I  listened  at  the  door  all  this  last  scene ;  my  heart  was  agita- 
ted with  ten  thousand  fears  ;  suppose  my  uncle  had  been  stout,  and 
drawn  his  sword. 

Wid.  I  should  have  run  away  as  he  did ;  when  two  cowards  meet, 
the  struggle  is  who  shall  run  first ;  and  sure  I  can  beat  an  old  man 
at  any  thing. 

Nep.  Permit  me  thus  to  seal  my  happiness. 

[Kneels  and  kisses  her  hand. 

Enter  Whittle  and  Bates  ;  Whittle  stares. 
Bates.  Confusion  !  [Aside. 

Whit.  [Turning  to  B\t:v.%.'\  Hey-day!  I  am  afr.aid  his  head  is  not 
right  yet !  lie  was  kneeling  and  kissing  the  captain's  hand. 
Bates.  Tyke  no  notice,  all  will  come  about. 

[Aside  to  Whittle. 
Wid.  I   find,  Mr.  Whittol,  your  family  loves  kissing  better  than 
fighting;  he  swears,  I  am  as  like  my  sister  as  two  pigeons. 

Enter  Sir  Patrick  O'Neale. 

Sir  P.  I  hope,  Mr.  Whizzle,  you'll  excuse  my  coming  back  to  give 
you  an  answer,  without  having  any  to  give ;  I  hear  a  grate  dale  of 
news  about  myself,  and  came  to  know  if  it  be  true ;  they  say  my  son 
is  in  London,  when  he  tells  me  himself,  by  letter  hero,  that  he's  at 
Limerick  ;  and  I  have  been  witli  my  daughter  to  tell  her  the  news, 
but  slio  would  not  stay  at  homo  to  receive  it,  so  I  come — Ogra-ma- 


22  THE    IRISH    ■;fIDOW. 

chree  !  iny  little  din  ousil  craw,  what  have  we  got  here  1  a  piece  of 
inunuuer}-  !  liere  is  my  son  and  daughter  too,  fait ;  what,  are  j'ou 
waring  the  breeches, Tat,  to  see  liow  they  become  you  when  you  are 
Mis.  Weezel  1 

Wid.  I  beg  your  pardon  for  that,  sir  !  I  wear  them  before  marriage, 
because  I  think  they  become  a  woman  better  than  after. 

Wkit.  What,  is  not  this  your  son  1  [Astonished. 

Sh-  P.  No,  but  it  is  my  daughter,  and  that  is  the  same  thing. 

Wid.  And  your  neice,  sir,  which  is  better  than  either. 

Whit.  Mighty  well  !  and  I  suppose  you  have  not  lost  your  wits, 
young  man  1 

Nep.  I  sympathise  with  you,  sir ;  we  lost  'em  together,  and  found 
"em  at  the  same  time. 

Whit.  Here's  villiany  !  Mr.  Bates,  give  me  the  paper  ;  not  a  farth- 
ing shall  they  have  till  the  law  gives  it  'em. 

Bates.  AVe'lI  cheat  the  law,  and  give  it  them  now. 

[Oives  Nephew  the  paper. 

Whit.  He  may  take  his  own,  but  he  shan't  have  a  sixpence  of  the 
five  thousand  pounds  I  promised  him. 

Bates.  Witness,  good  folks,  he  owns  to  the  promise. 

Sir  P.  Fait,  I'll  witness  dat,  or  anything  else  in  a  good  cause. 

Whit.  What,  am  I  choused  again  '? 

Bates.  Why  should  not  my  friend  be  choused  out  of  a  little  justice 
for  the  first  time  1  Your  hard  usage  has  sharpened  your  nephew's 
wits ;  therefore,  beware,  don't  play  with  edge-tools — you'll  only  cut 
your  fingers. 

Sir  P.  And  yourtrote,  too,  which  is  all  one;  therefore,  to  make  all 
asy,  marry  ray  daughter  first,  and  then  quarrel  with  her  afterwards  ; 
that  will  be  in  the  natural  course  of  things. 

Whit.  Here,  Thomas "?  where  are  you  1 

Enter  Thomas 

Here  are  fine  doings!  I  am  deceived,  tricked  and  cheated  1 

Tho.  I  wish  you  joy,  sir ;  the  best  thing  that  could  have  happened 
to  vou ;  and  as  a  faithful  servant,  I  have  done  my  best  to  check  you, 

Whit.  To  check  me  !  • 

Tho.  You  were  galloping  full  speed,  and  down  hill  too,  and  if  we 
had  not  laid  hold  of  the  bridle,  being  a  bad  jockey,  you  would  have 
hung  by  your  horns  in  the  stirrup  to  the  great  joy  of  the  whole  town. 

Whit.  What,  have  you  helped  to  tricked  me  1 

Tho.  Into  happiness.  You  have  been  foolish  a  long  while,  turn 
about  and  be  wise ;  he  has  got  the  woman  and  his  estate ;  give  them 
your  blessing,  which  is  not  worth  much,  and  live  like  a  Christian  for 
the  future. 

Whit.  I  will  if  I  can  ;  but  I  can't  look  at  'era  ;  I  can't  bear  the 
sound  of  my  voice,  nor  the  sight  of  my  own  face  ;  look  ye,  I  am  dis- 
tressed and  distracted  !  and  can't  come  too  yet ;  I  will  be  reconciled, 
if  possible  ;  but  don't  let  me  see  or  hear  from  you,  if  you  would  have 
me  forget  and  forgive  you — I  shall  never  lift  up  my  head  again  ! 


THE    IRISir   WIDOTT.  23 

Wid.  I  liope,  Sir  Pairick,  that  my  preferring  the  nepliew  to  the 
uucle  will  meet  with  your  approbation  1 

Sir  P.  You  are  out  of  my  hands,  Pat,  so  if  you  won't  trouhle  me 
with  your  afHictions,  I  shall  sincerely  rejoice  at  your  felicity. 

yep.  It  would  he  a  great  abatement  of  my  present  joy,  could  I  be- 
lieve that  this  lady  should  he  assisted  in  her  happiness,  or  be  suppor- 
ted in  her  afHictions,  by  any  one  but  her  lover  and  husband. 

Sir  P.  Fine  tastes  are  fine  tinjis,  but  a  fine  estate  gives  every  ting 
but  ideas,  and  them,  too,  if  you'll  appale  to  those  who  help  you  to 
spend  it.     What  say  you  widow  1 

Wid.  By  your  and  their  persuasion,  I  will  tell  my  mind  to  this 
good  company;  and  for  fear  my  words  should  want  ideas,  too,  I  will 
add  an  Irish  tune,  that  may  carry  off  a  bad  voice,  and  bad  matter. 

SONG. 

A  widow  bewitch'd  with  her  passion. 

Though  Irish,  is  now  quite  ashamed, 
To  think  that  she's  so  out  of  fashion, 
To  marry  and  then  to  be  tamed. 
'Tis  love,  the  dear  joy, 
That  old-fashioned  boy, 
Has  got  in  my  breast  with  his  quiver ; 
Tlie  blind  lU'chin  he. 
Struck  the  cush  la  maw  chree, 
And  a  husband  secures  me  forever ; 
Ye  fair  ones,  I  hope  will  excuse  me. 
Though  vulgar,  pray  not  abuse  me  ; 
I  cannot  become  a  fine  lady. 
Oh  love  has  bewitch'd  widow  Brady. 

Ye  critics,  to  murder  so  willing, 

Pray  see  all  our  errors  with  blindness. 
For  once  change  your  method  of  killing. 
And  kill  a  fond  widow  with  kindness ; 
If  you  look  so  severe, 
In  a  fit  of  despair, 
Again  will  I  draw  forth  my  steel,  sirs  ; 
You  know  I've  the  art 
To  be  twice  through  your  heart, 
Before  I  can  once  make  you  feel,  sirs. 

Brother  soldiers  I  hoi)o  you'll  protect  me, 
Nor  let  cruel  critics  dissect  me  ; 
To  favor  my  cause  be  but  ready, 
And  grateful  you'll  find  widow  Brady. 

To  all  that  I  see  here  before  me, 

The  bottom,  the  toj),  and  the  middle, 

For  music  we  now  must  imploie  you, 
No  wedding  without  pipe  and  fiddle: 


THE    IRISH    WIDOW. 

It'  all  are  in  tune, 
Tray  let  it  be  soon, 
My  heart  in  my  bosom  is  prancing  ! 
If  your  hands  should  unite, 
To  give  us  delight, 
Oh.  that's  the  best  piping  and  dancing, 
Your  plaudits  to  me  are  a  treasure, 

Your  smiles  are  dow'r  for  a  lady  ; 
Oh  !  joy  to  you  all  in  full  measure. 
So  wishes,  and  prays  widow  Brady. 


11 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 

STACK  COLLECTION 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


